I love the early morning light at this time of the year, made, alas, even more golden by the thin layer of smoke that's drifted down - via a slow arc of air currents - from Northern California (the evening sun is a bright red ball, too). It makes even a cluttered countertop, full of last night's supper equipment drying, look carefully composed - or that's what I'd typed, when I realized that it reminded me rather too strongly of John Bratby's Still Life with Chip Frier (1954): a painting of which I'm extremely fond of, though not, perhaps, as a point of domestic identification or comparison ...
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